Necro Sugar
by Figure.10
Summary: Kenny McCormick has always been fascinated by death. This time, however, it's not just his own. Very dark themes.
1. Forward

Notes: This...this is pretty messed up right here. It's from Kenny's point of view. You'll see why at the end. Please take the time to review, it encourages me to update faster.

Disclaimer: The characters belong to Matt and Trey, the sickfuckery is mine.

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...Forward...

I've always wondered what really happened to me when I died.

Of course I knew what it felt like, senses slowly shutting off one by one until the world melted away from me, waking up in the belly of the underworld. How could I forget any of that? But what I wondered about was, what did everyone else see? What did I look like when I was dead? Was I cold instantly, did my eyes glaze over and stare listlessly off into space?

I've never really seen someone die. On film and on T.V, people die all the time. It never bothers me though. It hasn't at least, for a long time. When I was five my parents were watching Cop Drama and a woman got stabbed. Mom said I cried. I didn't understand that they were just actors. It's almost funny now. But that was before I really knew myself. Before I knew what I was capable of. Sometimes it still scares me.

The first time it happened I was seven years old. I was helping my dad clear the dry brush in our backyard. He had rented a wood-chipper from Home Depot and I was helping him feed it the smaller branches and shrubs. I know it sounds like he wasn't taking good care of me, but he really was watching me. He never meant for me to get hurt. I wish I could say it all seems like a blur now, but it doesn't. I remember everything.

I had one last load of branches before I got to go inside for some off-brand Kool Aid. The last branch in the pile was pretty big, and I wanted to make sure it got in all the way. I pushed it. The moment my fingers came in contact with the blades I screamed. Dad ran over to help me, but my arm was already half way inside. I could feel every pass the blades made on my skin. My fingers were being torn off, one by one. I screamed louder and tried to pull myself out of the chute. It was sucking me in, and it seemed the harder I pulled, the faster I went. I watched in horror as Blood and pieces of my arm were spewed out of the end of the wood-chipper. Dad ran in the house to call 911.

It was too late. The blades cut down to my fibula. The blood was everywhere. On my face, on my body, on the pile of woodchips. The last thing I remember about that day was looking down at the exposed bone of my arm and wishing I was dead. I think that's the only wish I made that's come true.

Death, like any repetitive action, got mundane for me. Soon I was doing things I knew would kill me. I didn't understand what the big deal was, I was going to kick it one way or another. I still don't think I really die. Not..._really_. If you know you're going to come back, is it really dying? I've always thought of it more like sleeping. Just a little break from life, like a vacation. Of course, I have to remember I'm the only one that works like that.

Sometimes I forget.


	2. Obsession

...Chapter 1: Obsession...

I want to make one thing clear. I love my friends. I don't know what I'd do without them. They make the life I have to live worth living. Especially my three best friends. Stan, who is always so nice to me and feeds me when I have nothing to eat. Kyle, who is the smartest guy I know and helps me with my English homework. Cartman, who is a huge bigoted asshole but makes me laugh more than the other two combined. I would never hurt them. Except one day I did.

It was November 20, just over 15 years ago. We were all going sledding on Phil Collins hill. It had snowed really hard the night before, and fresh powder coated everything we touched. It was a beautiful day. I told the guys that if they just went with me one time I'd stop bugging them about it, because Kyle was scared. I should have listened to him.

Cartman wouldn't come with Kyle, Stan, and I on the sled. He stayed at the bottom and watched. I was sure the hill wasn't_ that_ much higher because of the snow. It would just be an extra thrill, cutting through the fresh powder until we slid to a stop at the base. How was I to know it could be dangerous? I guess I wasn't thinking, because that was another day I'll never forget.

I still think he could have held on to me tighter. Maybe if he had it never would have happened. Not that I don't take full responsibility for it, just...well, I guess I just don't want to believe it. About half way down the hill I felt the sled start to rock back and forth. I yelled back at Stan to sit still. He was scared. Stan and Kyle had never been on a hill that big before, I guess I should have warned them how fast the sled could go. I just told Stan to calm down.

The sled started shaking violently. Before I could react, I was thrown off and into a tree. The last thing I remember about that day in November was feeling bark scrape against my skin, seeing blood run down my face, and hearing a horrible scream. Then I died.

I knew something wasn't right when I came back. The way the kids at school looked at me, as if they were scared. I was more scared than them. I didn't even find out what happened to Stan until Cartman told me at lunch. He was in the hospital. He had been thrown off the sled and was recovering in the ICU. And it was all my fault.

The kids all thought I was a monster. Even Mr. Garrison distanced himself from me. I know Kyle tried to make them all shut up, he's always stood up for me. In fact, sometimes he stands up for me when I'm dead wrong. Nobody listened to Kyle, though. It could have brought us closer, being outcasts like that. I think it only drove us apart.

That evening I went to see Stan in the hospital. He was red and sweaty and covered in bandages. I knew it was horrible, I knew it was painful and bad and sick, but seeing him like that... Maybe if he would have never gotten hurt, none of this would of happened. Standing there in his hospital room, clutching a get-well card and a teddy bear I bought with my allowance, something happened to me. I looked down at Stan in his bandages and hospital gown and noticed something. His hand, the most tightly bandaged, with a small outline of dried blood, was missing something. Stan's right thumb was gone. There, at ten years old, standing in my friend's hospital room, I had my first full erection.

I thought about it that night. I thought about slowly undoing the bandages while Stan winced and whispered for me to stop. My hand moved slowly down my body as I lay there, thinking about how I would lick all the blood off the stump. I had never tasted anyone else's blood. I wondered, fantasised, while I touched myself, about what it would taste like. Would it be metallic and sour like my own?

_Stan's blood_.

I came. It was the best orgasm I had ever had, but it was horrible. I still had a conscious. I brought my shaking hand up to my mouth and licked it. It the dark of my room the warm fluid dripped down my hand, and for a second I could pretend it was blood. I shuddered. I knew it was wrong, but I also knew I couldn't stop.

That was the beginning of my obsession with him. I couldn't get him out of my head. Seeing him injured and vulnerable like that awakened another side of me, a side I was scared of. I knew blood wasn't supposed to make me feel that way. It was supposed to scare me, to make me feel bad. I think that's when I first knew that death was more than a condition for me. It was a way of life.

I kept the secret very well. I never told anybody, not even if I thought they wouldn't believe me or I knew I would never see them again. It was a big secret to keep. I wasn't ready for it. Not at ten, and not now.

At first it was small things. It was easy to keep my need for him under control. We could talk and laugh, hang out like old times- no problem. It was only when he got hurt, slipped at fell, cut himself on the edge of a package, that it resurfaced.

Seeing him injured excited me. It was scary and horrible. Sometimes I felt like I could barely contain myself. As I got older, the feelings got stronger, harder to keep in check. What was I supposed to have done, told my parents? They would have had me committed. I wasn't crazy. I still don't think I'm crazy.

I was 14 years old the day our class took a field trip out to Stark's Pond. It was no big deal at the time. The guys and I had been camping there countless times before. I think something about the familiarity of it all caused me to let my guard down. Stan and Kyle came with me to the bank of the pond to raft with the other kids. Cartman stayed behind.

Something about being surrounded by other kids, guys we wanted to think we we were cool, girls we wanted to fuck, made the dynamic change. I remember a boy named Kevin dared us to jump in the pond. The water was ice cold, but we did it anyway.

It was fun at first, just another dare. I think we even laughed as we splashed around. It wasn't until we got out of the freezing water that the familiar feeling, the compulsion, started creeping up again. I wouldn't have looked at Stan if Kyle hadn't joked about it. I told myself not to. I knew at this point the feelings had gotten too strong for me to handle. I can't even remember Kyle's exact words, only that he mentioned the blue tint of Stan's skin.

Up to that point, I had never gotten an erection so fast.

As we walked back to our tents, I took my chance to brush against his arm. Stan's skin felt like ice. A shiver went up my spine, long after the chill of the water had lost its effect. It was that night in our tent, just me, Kyle, Cartman, and Stan, that I realised the extent of my fetish.

I didn't sleep at all. I couldn't stop thinking about how that brief skin contact had made me feel. It wasn't just Stan's blood I found erotic, it was much more than that. That night I discovered I was a necrophiliac.


End file.
